Sign Of The Times
by letmefallasleep
Summary: Sequel to 'Never Too Late', although it can probably be read on its own. This takes place in the eight months between seasons 2 and 3. "It was day four after leaving the farm. Day four of running like rabbits, scurrying every which way, no clear direction in mind other than 'away'. Away from the nightmare that had been their last night on the farm."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: YAY for the sequel! I know this starts off a bit slow, and not much is explained yet, but I wanted to set the tone for the next few chapters. I will also explain Randal, Shane, and the leaving of the farm in greater detail in the next chapter. : )

Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead, the characters therein, or Norman Reedus. If I did... I wouldn't share them lol.

Warnings: Same as Never Too Late. Mentions of past abuse, language, angst, etc.

* * *

It was starting to get cold, Daryl noticed absently, his eyes wandering the edge of the clearing from his vantage point in the tree..

It was day four after leaving the farm. Day three of running like rabbits, scurrying every which way, no clear direction in mind other than 'away'. Away from the nightmare that had been their last night on the farm.

He grunted to himself, shifting around uncomfortably, his leg starting to ache as the wind seeped through his clothing, sending chills up his spine. This shit couldn't last much longer; take out the fact that they were all going to freeze to death soon, there was still the issue of moral, which was sinking fast. No purpose, no goals, no destination... Just four days of endless running. Stopping long enough to eat a few mouthfuls of food, grabbing an hour or two of shut eye, before they were on the move again.

And he was sleeping even less than the rest of the group. And while he was used to functioning on only a few hours of sleep a night, four days of almost _no_ sleep was starting to make him irritable.

Well... More irritable than usual.

This was the first time they'd stopped for more than an hour or two. The small hunting cabin he'd found was barely big enough to hold all of them, packed together like sardines as they were, but it had four walls to keep out the wind. Even if it meant no breathing room.

Which was why he hadn't woke Rick up to take his shift on guard duty. There was no way in _hell_ he was gonna lay down in that mess inside. Even if he wanted to, he knew he'd never be able to sleep; everybody was just too Goddamn close. He couldn't understand how they could even _breath_, much less sleep. He grunted again, wishing that they'd managed to grab at least one of the many tents they'd used on the farm.

But everything had happened way too fast. Not a damn one of them had been ready to up and run like they had, other than him.

Well, even he hadn't been _entirely_ prepared, if he was being honest with himself. He'd been ready to move, sure; granola bars, a couple of water bottles some junk food, and his extra clothes – which was only two extra shirts, and a spare pair of jeans – stored in the saddle bags of his bike, quiver of arrows always either on the bike, or on his side. But his tent, his blanket, and most of his food stash had all been left behind.

But he was doing better than the rest. Most everybody had kept all of their personal belongings – including clothes – in the RV, which had gotten left behind in the chaos. Although, the way Rick told it, they wouldn't have wanted it even if somebody had tried to drive it off. Apparently the teenage boy had gotten over-run inside while trying to save Rick and Carl.

He glanced back at the cabin from his perch in the tree. Hershel and his family had lost almost half their group, not to mention their home and way of life. He couldn't remember the boy's name – had he ever even taken the time to learn it? – but he remembered Patricia. Patricia who'd helped patch him up after his escape. Patricia, who Carol had been close to.

_Carol_.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, shuddering a bit at the coldness of his palm. _Carol_ was the real problem. The real reason he hadn't been getting any sleep.

After _that_ night... Something had changed. It was a given, he supposed; he knew _that_ night had changed him, which would obviously have changed his relationship with the gray-haired, gray-eyed woman. But he wasn't sure what had changed, or how.

Their first night away from the farm, after Rick's little explosion – _and who could blame him, really_ – she'd talked about her and him going off. Together. By themselves. Just the two of them.

When he'd tiredly – _God, even then, he hadn't had a good night's sleep in at least a week _– asked her just what the hell she wanted, what she expected of him, she'd given him that small little smile she was always giving him, reaching a hand up to touch his face.

A man of honor, she'd told him. And that look in her eye told him that she wasn't talking about Rick; hell, the more he thought about it, he was pretty sure it wouldn't have mattered _what_ Rick had said or done. She'd decided to throw her lot in with Daryl, for some God-forsaken reason that he couldn't even begin to fathom.

He couldn't figure out what the hell she seen him. Maybe it was grief; woman hadn't been wrapped all that tight even before her kid had gone missing. So maybe she'd just latched on to the only unattached person in the group. Everybody needed somebody, right? Didn't explain why she'd suddenly decided he should be leader instead of risk, but then again, women never really made much sense.

She didn't seem to understand that he wasn't even comfortable with the new role Rick had given him as right-hand man. He _hated_ the way the former deputy would look at him, asking his opinion on everything. Talking things over with him in the few minutes they had to catch their breath.

He didn't _want_ to be anybody's damn leader. Didn't want that _responsibility_.

But sometimes... the way Carol looked at him... Well, he'd never say nothing, but he had to admit... It _was_ kind of nice when she gave him those looks. Kind of nice that she had that much trust in him, even though it scared the ever loving hell out of him.

_Damn, he must have been getting tired._

* * *

Carol bit back a groan as Lori's foot caught her in the knee. Again. All night, it'd either been Lori's feet, or Beth's bony elbows. It was hard enough to breath, her claustrophobia rapidly kicking into high gear the closer the pregnant woman and teenage girl got to her, without their constant tossing and turning.

She couldn't take it anymore. In a minute, she was going to start screaming.

Cautiously pulling herself to her feet – careful not to wake the others – she began picking her way through the small, one-room cabin, a frown coming to her face when she spotted Rick on the other side of Lori. Glen curled up with Maggie, and T on the other side of Carl.

He couldn't _still_ be on watch. It'd been at least four or five hours since he'd stomped outside, muttering something about taking first watch, and waking Rick in a few hours. But obviously he must have been, since he wasn't in the cabin, and nobody else was missing.

She wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tighter as she quickly opened the door, stepping out, and closing it as fast as she could, to try and keep the heat inside as much as possible. They hadn't dared risk a fire, not wanting the smell or the smoke to attract any unwanted attention, even though the probability was slim. Nobody wanted to run any more risks than they had to, after what had happened in the farm.

She sighed as she glanced around the clearing, a small frown on her face. She knew better than to try and find him in the dark, especially in the middle of the woods as they were. He could be up in any one of the damn trees surrounding the cabin, and she'd never see him. Especially if he didn't want to be seen.

He hadn't been avoiding her _exactly_, since that night. The night he'd broken down, and sobbed like a little boy in her arms. But he hadn't been comfortable with her company since then either. The most they'd talked since her disastrous suggestion to go off together had been while she had inspected his swollen and bruised shoulder the previous day, and even that had consisted of mostly grunts and glares.

As she sat down next to the wood pile a few yards away from the cabin, she couldn't help but wince at the thought of just how horribly the conversation that first night away from the farm had went. She'd been scared, her nerves frayed and shot to hell, not thinking clearly after Rick's stunning revelation that they were all infected. The revelation that Daryl seemed to have taken in stride.

With an almost-silent chuckle, she thought about how he'd been more upset with her comment about them together than he had to learn that upon his death, he'd turn into a Walker. Classic Daryl, really: turning into a flesh-eating, walking corpse upon death? Easily handled. A blow or shot to the head, and that particular problem would be solved.

But being alone with a woman? Responsible for her welfare? Well, apparently that just scared the hell right out of him.

"Ya shouldn't be out here."

Even though her brain knew that it was him, that he wouldn't have let anything sneak up on her, she couldn't help the small squeak that passed her lips, hands flying to her throat as she searched the darkness for him. After a few seconds, she locked onto those vibrant, beautiful blue eyes a few feet away from where she sat. After finding his eyes, it was easy to make out the rest of him.

"Couldn't breath in there," She said, giving him a self-deprecating grin. "Too many people."

"Yeah, tell me 'bout it," He mumbled, dropping down next to her.

"How's your leg and shoulder doing?" She asked after a few minutes of uneasy silence, tilting her head to the side a bit, just enough to catch the quick flash of pain across his face, before it was gone again. "Still bothering you?"

"I'll be fine, woman."

"You always are."

* * *

Daryl glared at her, trying to decide whether she was being sarcastic or serious. Finally, he just grunted, deciding it didn't really matter either way.

"We need supplies, Daryl. We need supplies, and a few days' rest."

Her firm words caught him by surprise. He'd expected a bit more poking and prodding about his shoulder.

"Yeah, an'?" He asked sarcastically.

"Talk to Rick. He'll listen to you. We can't keep going like this. We... we need a place to relax for a day or two; a place to catch our breath, and gather ourselves. We keep going like this... We're all going to burn out."

"So why don't ya ask him then?"

"Because he'll listen to you."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, so I know that this is moving kind of slow, but I'm kind of enjoying this chance to explore a little bit, and take it easy. It's not often I find myself with a chance to delve into real relationships; I'm usually too busy squeezing every last bit of angst out of the characters as I can lol. So bear with me for a little while. The angst will start up in the next chapter or two, I promise lol. Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, and enjoy. : )

* * *

"Something on your mind?"

Daryl grunted, rolling his sore shoulder uncomfortably, as he stared over at Rick, the other man looking more tired and worn out than he did.

"We can't keep this up, Grimes," He finally said slowly. "This pace is gonna kill us; not to mention… Hell, look at 'em," He said disdainfully, nodding towards the huddled group. "They're givin' up. They need some time ta breathe… Get their shit together. We ain't stopped since the farm."

Rick glared at him. "And just what would you suggest? I promised to keep 'em safe, Daryl, and that's what I'm doing!"

"No, ya ain't! These people are _dyin'_, Rick! They're tired, they're hungry, and they're losin' the little bit a hope they had!" He sighed, trying to reign his temper in. "They… they ain't like you or me, Rick. Me… Hell, I'm jus' survivin' 'cause I don't know what else ta do. You got ya wife an' boy. But the others… they need _hope_, Rick. An' they ain't gonna last much longer 'less they find some.

"C'mon, man, think 'bout it. Hershel an' his brood lost two, not ta mention the farm, an' way a life. An' we lost Andrea… Only a day after we lost Dale. They need time ta lick their wounds. Ya know I'm right.

"I know ya wanna stay as far away from the towns as ya can, but we're gonna have ta. We need warmer clothes, we need blankets, an' we need food," He finished quietly, raising his head to look back at Rick, feeling a nervousness gnawing at his gut, before dropping his head again. God, he hated it. When the hell had he suddenly become the voice of reason? Damn end of the world had shit turned sideways if he was seriously the only person thinking straight; if he was the one people were looking to for advice.

"You're right."

Daryl looked up in surprise. "What?"

"I said you're right," Rick repeated slowly. "I just… I'm lost here, Daryl. I got no idea what I'm doing. No idea what I'm supposed to do here. I… I know I gotta keep 'em safe, but I got no idea how I'm supposed to do that."

Daryl snorted as he stood, stretching his good arm over his head. "Ain't like there's a damn instruction book for this shit. Ya doin' the best ya can. An' that's a damn sight better than what Shane did, if it means anythin' ta ya."

The startled look on Rick's face made Daryl drop his head again, wishing he'd kept his damn mouth shut.

Merle had always told Daryl that his biggest problem –one of the many, according to the oldest Dixon brother –was that he never knew when to keep his damn mouth shut. Never known when to talk, and when to shut up.

"It… It does, Daryl. I… I appreciate that."

* * *

"Ya ready?"

Carol looked up at Daryl in surprise. "For what?"

"Talked ta Rick; me an' you are goin' scoutin'. See if we can find some place ta hole up for a few days. After that, we're gonna go look for a place to grab some food, an' some clothes. Ain't gonna have y'all freezin' ta death on me."

Carol fought to keep the smile from her face, as she stood, and followed him over towards his motorcycle, ignoring everyone's questioning looks.

"Here."

She nearly ran into Daryl as he stopped, his face twisting a little as he started shrugging his jacket off. Hearing his grunt of pain, she reached forward, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be fine," She said softly, giving him a smile. "I've got my sweater."

"Ya gonna take it if I have ta cut the damn thing off," He growled, still struggling to pull the garment off.

Carol sighed as she began helping him, careful to avoid aggravating his shoulder anymore. She could feel the group's eyes on her, and she knew at least Lori would be thinking the worst of her for not putting up more of a fight.

But she ignored it. She knew they wouldn't understand like she did.

True, he would probably get cold, despite what he would admit. True, her sweater would keep most of the wind off, making the jacket unnecessary. But she knew that he wouldn't back down; that –despite how he'd been raised –he had deeply ingrained beliefs, one of which wouldn't allow him to wear his jacket while she only had a sweater. Arguing with him would only anger him; would only make him uncomfortable, which would make their trip awkward, and leave him miserable and on edge the rest of the day.

Besides… She knew he how much he _needed_ it. Needed someone to take care of.

* * *

Daryl grunted as Carol put the jacket on, looking up and giving him a small smile, pulling it tight around herself, and burrowing her head further inside it.

He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that the tightening in his chest as he looked at her wasn't because of the cold, or from the awkwardness of the situation. That irritating sensation was satisfaction. He kind of _liked_ seeing her wearing his jacket. He'd seen movies where guys gave their jackets or sweatshirts to their girlfriend, and he'd scoffed, thinking it was just another Hollywood fake romance gimmick.

But her small smile, and that stupid feeling was making him wonder if it wasn't one of the few things those stupid movies had got right.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Alright so... Firstly, I apologize that it took me so long to update this, but between my two OFC fics, and my Hobbit fics, I'm sort of running myself ragged here lately, and since this is the story I have the least inspiration on right now... I'm not going to lie, updates will probably be once every week or two on this until I either find some inspiration, or I wrap up another story. : /

* * *

"Done already?" Carol asked with a smile as Daryl entered through one of the doors, swinging the large metal door shut behind him.

He grunted as he sat down on one of the blankets, stretching his arms over his head. "Weren't that much ta do," He grumbled. "Strung some shit 'round the outer fence; hell, don't even know how much noise we'll hear from inside these metal coffins. How's ya claustrophobia holdin' up?"

She grimaced as she handed him a can of hash and a plastic fork. "I'm trying not to think about it," She admitted, leaning back against the wall of the storage container.

She felt a pang of guilt as he frowned at the can for a minute, before setting it next to him on the ground. "Sorry… That was the only thing that Rick and T brought back that I thought you might like."

"Damn. Knew I should a went with 'em. What else they bring back?"

Carol sighed as she scooted across the floor towards where she'd stacked a few of the cans. "Um… Mandarins, few Campbell's chicken noodle soups, and some vegetables… Beans, corn, and peas."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Great. Send 'em out for food, an' they don't bring back nothin' we can actually _eat_. Gotta go back out tomorrow ta find some clothes. Get us some real food while we're out there. Can't eat this shit."

"Daryl… you need rest as much as the rest of us do," She said firmly. "You haven't slept more than an hour or two since…" She paused, swallowing thickly when he glared at her.

"Since what?" He growled, and she could see him resisting the urge to touch his shoulder. "Go 'head, an' say it."

"Since you came back that night. Look, Daryl… you're not superhuman. You have to sleep at some point," She pointed out softly.

"I get enough sleep. Don't need ya motherin' me," He muttered, dropping his gaze again, and Carol had to keep from sighing at the petulant look on his face.

"When was the last time you slept, hmm? Last time you ate? Rick's been running us ragged the past four days, but _you've_ been pushing yourself non-stop. You haven't even… you're still recovering. I know your shoulder hasn't healed, and I've seen you limping. You're killing yourself, Daryl."

"M'fine."

"No. You're not fine, and I'm tired of hearing you say that you are. You're exhausted, you're not eating, you're in pain… You need to stop. I… We can send Glen out tomorrow for more food. Him and Maggie are better at getting that stuff anyways."

"I can do it!"

Carol frowned, moving over closer to him. "I'm not saying that you can't, Daryl. I'm just saying that others are perfectly capable of doing some of the heavy lifting. You're not the only person here who can do things."

"Sure I ain'. S'why we got hash an' the worst soup known ta man ta eat."

Carol rolled her eyes as she lay down on one of the many blankets they'd found in the various storage containers, wrapping herself up in another blanket.

He really could be such a child at times, she thought, rolling onto her side, facing away from him. Worse than Sophia or even Carl sometimes.

Although, when she thought about it, it made sense. While he was intelligent – really, he was probably one of the smartest, most observant people she'd ever met – he had the mindset and the emotions of a child. And on occasion, the temper to match it. He'd never had a chance to learn how to interact with others, never learned appropriate emotional responses.

At times, his child-like behavior could be endearing, even making her chuckle once in a while. But others times –like right then –it was just frustrating.

* * *

Daryl could tell that Carol was angry. Well, maybe not 'angry', she didn't ever seem to get angry with him, it was more like… annoyance.

And it was obvious. It couldn't have been more clear in the way she turned away from, giving him the cold shoulder.

Speaking of… Now that she wasn't watching, he tried to surreptitiously rub at his shoulder. Despite what he'd told Hershel back on the farm, he was starting to get worried; almost three weeks, a simple dislocation shouldn't have been giving him any more problems. But it was still swollen, sore, and stiff, sometimes so bad that he could barely move. His leg wasn't doing much better, he thought, grimacing as he stretched it out in front of him, a sharp ache shooting up the entire length, from his foot to his thigh.

"You should take off your boots. You'll sleep better."

Daryl grunted, a little surprised to find Carol had turned over, and was staring up at him.

"Thought you was goin' ta sleep," He muttered, reaching down to try and unlace his boots. He gritted his teeth as another wave of pain ripped through his shoulder, and gave up. He'd slept in his boots before –hell, he spent most of his life sleeping in his boots – and another night wasn't gonna kill him.

"You need help?"

"No."

He glared as she sat up with a sigh, moving herself around to his feet.

"You know, I think you're the most stubborn person I've ever met."

"I'll add that ta the list a things I am," He grumbled, fighting the urge to pull his feet away as she slowly untied the knots, and pulled his boots off.

"You should let Hershel look at your leg."

"I said I'm fine. Damn ol' man's got 'nough on his plate right now. What the hell are ya doin'?!"

* * *

Carol almost chuckled at the shocked look on his face. "I'm rubbing your feet," She said with a soft smile.

"Why?"

"Because you're sore, and in pain, and there's nothing I can do about that, but I can try and make you feel a little bit better."

"You ain't gotta do that. Said I'm fine. Knock it off, will ya?" He finally snapped, moving his legs away from her. "Jesus, woman. Jus' go ta sleep, will ya?"


End file.
